A State Of Peace And Misery
by insanechayne
Summary: Rick and Daryl have struggled through so much in the past months, but the battle isn't over yet, what with the Governor still out there somewhere.
1. Little Moments

**A State Of Peace And Misery**

**Chapter 1: Little Moments**

It had been a week since the folks of Woodbury moved into the prison with Rick's group, and by then everyone's nerves were shot, Rick and Daryl's especially. Daryl had been on edge from the moment Rick had announced the idea; he already wasn't comfortable around the small group of people he'd known for a year, and the large influx of people that had just swept in made his teeth rattle and his bones feel about as solid as jelly. Daryl frequently wandered around the woods on the outskirts of the building, living in his element of nature and solidarity for a few hours each day. He came in and out of areas where he knew he would not be pestered by the Woodburians, and took on extra watches in the remaining guard tower just to get more alone time.

Rick and Daryl had been making such progress before the Governor's attack; they weren't quite a couple, or at least they wouldn't call themselves that, but they were closer than anyone besides Glenn and Maggie. They would often share a cell at night, or take a watch together; they had even kissed on occasion. Rick had felt like Daryl was really starting to open up to him, to trust him, maybe even to love him, but then he had gone and brought back those Woodburians and Daryl had receded right back into his shell. Rick longed to go to the hunter and talk to him like he used to, but he knew that Daryl needed time to adjust, and figured that it would be best to just leave the guy alone, no matter how lonely his bed got at night.

Rick's footsteps were heavy as he made his way up the few stairs to the tower, a mixture of exhaustion and wanting to alert Daryl to his presence. The door was closed, a not uncommon occurrence lately, so he knocked rather than barging in; with Daryl it was always best to be respectful, especially if you wanted to get him to talk to you.

"S'open." Daryl's gruff voice called softly from the other side.

Hearing his voice without the annoyance and threat it usually bore with the Woodbury people had Rick's heart skipping beats, and he eagerly pushed the door open.

Daryl was seated on a counter area that had been built into the wall, one foot resting flat on its surface, his knee cocked so that he could rest his arm on it, the other dangling toward the floor. He didn't look up at Rick, merely kept his eyes on the yard below them, focusing lazily on the walkers milling about.

"Your shift's done; I came up to take over for you." Rick took a seat on the counter directly across from Daryl, trying to meet the other man's eyes; the hunter still didn't look up at him.

"Don't mind stayin' up here a while longer. Why don' ya go spend some time with Carl? Think one'a the Woodbury folk brought a ball with 'em. Maybe y'could get the kid to play a game'a basketball with ya."

Rick made no move to leave. He continued to stare at Daryl, and Daryl continued to stare at the walkers, and the silence between them was uncomfortable and awkward.

Finally, Daryl rolled his eyes in the sheriff's direction. "What d'ya want, Rick?"

The blue globes that were Daryl's eyes were hard as ice, frozen over with the practiced mask he'd been putting in place since he were just a boy, and it made Rick's heart clench painfully to have such a look turned on him.

"Look, Daryl, I know you need time to get used to those people. I don't blame you fer that. I just miss talkin' to you, and spending time with you, like we used to. So I figure even a few stolen moments here in the guard tower, waitin' fer one of us to leave the other in solitude, is better than nothing." Rick's eyes met Daryl's now, and the compassion in them softened the other man's expression.

Daryl nodded slowly, looking down at his boot, then swiftly reached out and took hold of Rick's hand. It was casual, an almost impersonal gesture, like a pat on the back of a teammate, but the warmth and electricity that burned through Rick's palm told him that Daryl meant it in a very personal manner.

Rick squeezed Daryl's fingers gently, a small smile curving his lips upward. Daryl's lips twitched just slightly in response, and he curled his hand tighter around the sheriff's. Rick was officially forgiven for bringing the others to the prison, and he wouldn't dare take the gesture for granted.

"I'll come visit you later, at your cell." Rick said as he rose to leave. He would wait until everyone was sleeping, and then he would slip to Daryl's perch, just like old times.

Daryl nodded, returning his gaze to the viewing window of the tower.

They weren't a couple, not even close, but in those little moments Rick knew that Daryl cared for him just as much as he cared for Daryl.


	2. Later In The Evening

**Chapter 2: Later In The Evening**

The soft snores and light movements of those sleeping around him were the only thing Rick could hear as he stared up at the top bunk in his cell. His nerves tingled under his skin, the blood pumping a heated pathway through his veins, and he could swear that he was laying on blazing hot concrete on an August day. Every part of him cried out for the cool of Daryl's touch, needed Daryl's lips to quell the thirst with kisses placed just right on his lips, his cheek, his throat, but he wasn't sure that now was the time to go to his hunter.

Was Daryl waiting up for him right now, wondering where he was? Was disappointment flooding his arteries as he curled into a cramped position on his slim prison mattress? Was this same need burning under his skin as he waited eagerly for Rick to appear in the doorway, and slide into bed beside him?

Rick shook his head of these unanswered questions, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He figured he'd waited long enough for all of the others to be asleep; he had to see Daryl right that second. He crept quietly to Daryl's perch, his bare feet slapping the concrete floor mutedly.

Daryl looked up when Rick's silhouette filled the entryway, then silently slid down the mattress to make room for the sheriff to sit beside him. Rick plopped down next to Daryl, cringing at the creak of springs shifting beneath his weight. Neither of them spoke, just stayed content to be in the other's company; this quiet was not awkward, as it had been in the guard tower earlier, but was actually pleasant, and they could feel their love for one another grow with their stretched-out silence.

Soon, though, the dark and the quiet gnawed a whole through Rick, until he felt he couldn't bear the stillness any longer. He didn't want to speak, not yet, so instead he slid his hand over until it was rest on top of Daryl's. The other man stiffened, but quickly relaxed once more, and turned his hand palm-up to clasp the sheriff's fingers in his own. Rick twined their fingers, the spaces between them filled perfectly with the other's skin, and neither could tell where one of them ended and the other began.

Daryl, fully relaxed with Rick's presence now, leaned back against the wall, his thin over-shirt unbuttoned to reveal his toned abdomen, tan from spending just enough time in the sun, and streaked with dirt from hard work in the forest. Rick swallowed roughly, wanting nothing more than to run his tongue over those sculpted muscles, and make Daryl tingle with the want that now flowed through him. But he kept his place beside the hunter controlled, save for his move into the same position as Daryl so that they could hold hands more comfortably.

"Can't say I didn' miss this." Daryl murmured softly, his eyes staring at the stars visible from his barred window.

"Miss what?" Rick asked, turning his head just slightly to look at the other man from the corner of his eye. Rick knew full well what Daryl was talking about, but he needed to hear him say it, just like how, once upon a time, he'd needed to hear Lori say she loved him, and believed in his decisions; she felt like such a distant memory now as Rick sat beside a man who was all muscle and rugged skin, with no soft curves or pale innocence.

Daryl's lips tightened into a thin line for a moment as he thought about how best to answer the question. "Missed just sittin' here with ya like this. Guess I needed the comp'ny more'n I'd care to admit to anyone else."

It was as close to one of Lori's 'I love you's as Rick was liable to get from Daryl, but he would take it and be grateful. He couldn't help but smile at the hunter's words, knowing exactly how Daryl had been feeling.

Perhaps it was because he was so used to the sheriff, or perhaps it was because he had seen Rick moving from the corner of his eye, but he didn't stiffen when Rick leaned closer and pressed his lips to the hollow of Daryl's cheek. Rather, he welcomed the gesture of affection, and had his defenses been just that much weaker he might have moved into the touch with a soft whimper; something inside of him had wanted to do that all along.

Rick's lips traveled their way along Daryl's jawline slowly, tracing every contour and committing it to memory; Daryl could tell that the sheriff was building up to a full-lipped kiss, and he was more than willing to oblige. So quick it was a blur, Daryl's face turned to Rick's, their lips pressed together in kiss that both cooled the fire that burned through his veins and ignited it all over again, and suddenly they were a tangled mess of clothes and blankets and groping limbs.

Daryl panted, his husky breath washing over Rick's face in a not unpleasant way, his want tugging at his jeans' clasp and pushing against the sheriff's thigh. Daryl's eyes remained closed, as if by not looking at his lover he could simultaneously hide all of his insecurities and short comings and just be everything that Rick ever wanted or needed or loved. Rick kept his eyes open, watching Daryl's every movement with perfect clarity, and he realized that what made Daryl so amazing was the vulnerability that he kept bottled up inside until it finally exploded when he collided with this one person he truly felt something for. The way Daryl's brows knit together as he squeezed his eyes shut, the way his nose scrunched up as he groaned ever so softly at Rick's searching hand, the way his full lips opened and closed as his warm breath slipped through and just looked so utterly kissable, drove Rick mad with desire.

Above all, though, Rick was a man of honor, and he needed to hear Daryl voice his consent before they went any farther.

"Daryl?" Rick pulled away just enough to look at Daryl's still closed eyes, waiting for them to open and stare back at him.

Daryl did open his eyes, and the rejection and hurt that surfaced in them felt like a stab right to Rick's gut. Daryl thought that Rick had pulled away because he didn't want this, even though the sheriff had made it perfectly obvious time and time again that he wanted this more than anything else.

"Daryl, I just… wanted to make sure you were comfortable with this, and that this is what you really wanted to do."

Daryl answered by kissing Rick passionately once more, and wrapping his arms around the other man's neck. When he finally broke the kiss he whispered a line from some long-forgotten song, "Hold me now, I need to feel complete, like I matter to the one I need."

That was all it took for Rick to pull Daryl's body back to his, skin to skin, for the rest of the night.


	3. Scars

**Chapter 3: Scars**

That night Rick stayed awake while Daryl slept, his arm slung around the other man's shoulders. He traced idle patterns into Daryl's skin, wishing they could just lie together this way forever, no barriers between them, just peace and companionship.

Daryl, for once, wasn't restless that night. He stayed in the same position for almost the entire night, curled into Rick's side like a baby cub to its mother. He snored lightly, the sound quiet as a breath blowing from his lips into the night air. Rick carded his fingers through the hunter's hair, which was surprisingly smooth and soft despite not having been washed in however many days. Rick wondered if Daryl spent any amount of time running his own fingers through the strands to rid them of tangles, and smiled.

Around the break of dawn Daryl shifted his position to face the wall, leaning into himself with his back to Rick. This was the first time Rick had seen Daryl's scars in full view without any fabric blocking them, and he had to stifle a gasp at how many there were. How many times had this sweet man's father taken a fist to his own son, beat some stupid lesson or another into his flesh with the language of pain and marked wounds that never left? What kind of sick person could do that to their child, or even just another human being, for that matter?

Rick, so lightly that Daryl had no hope of waking from the touch, reached out and ran his fingers over each scar that he could see, wishing there was some way he could make them disappear forever. Daryl didn't deserve to carry such a burden, not when he bore a heart of gold on the other side.

There were two scars in particular that caught Rick's eye and held it; on the right hand side, up near his shoulder blade and creeping slightly toward the middle of his back, was a large 'x' shape. They almost touched Daryl's devil tattoo, falling just shy of the ink. Rick leaned forward, trying to make out every detail in the dim pre-morning light. He couldn't be sure, but the scars almost looked to have been made with some kind of knife.

Bile rose in Rick throat, his hand clenching into a fist. Daryl's father was lucky he was dead, because had Rick ever caught hold of him after seeing this Hell would have been more welcome to that man than Rick's fury.

As Rick finally calmed and settled back into place beside his lover, his eyes came to rest on the devil tattoo marking the hunter's shoulder. The two demons appeared to be in flight, one taking the hand of the other and pulling it up with him. Rick pondered the meaning behind this particular tattoo, and decided that maybe Daryl would tell him the reason if he asked.

Daryl woke when the sun broke through the bars on his window, the soft light illuminating the walls of the cell and setting Daryl's hair glowing like an angel's halo. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to recede back into the darkness, before blinking them open.

No matter how many times Rick had seen Daryl's eyes he was always surprised by just how blue they were when the sun shined through them, almost like the ocean. He smiled when Daryl turned those eyes to him, the irises lighting even more to see that Rick hadn't left during the night.

"Mornin', sleeping beauty." Rick smirked teasingly, and placed a kiss on Daryl's forehead.

Daryl crinkled his nose, still not used to how romantic the sheriff could be. "Ya been up all night?"

Rick nodded rather than speak, dipping his chin once. Daryl shook his head, feeling somewhat guilty, as if it was his fault that the sheriff had been up so long.

Rick ran a hand down Daryl's chest slowly, averting his eyes from the oceans that were Daryl's, before saying, "Would you mind if I asked you something?"

Daryl stiffened under Rick's touch, his body going from relaxed to taut as a wire in two seconds flat, and Rick immediately regretted asking.

Finally, Daryl answered, "What?"

Rick swallowed roughly before voicing his question. "I was just wondering about what that tattoo on your back meant, the one with the two devils in flight."

Daryl was quiet, all the words Rick dared not say still filling his ears in the ensuing silence. Rick had seen his back, had seen the myriad of scars and pain and burdens long held, and had instead asked about that stupid tattoo he barely even remembered getting. Rick was respecting his privacy about his past by focusing on something inconsequential, and Daryl thought that he couldn't possibly love the sheriff more than he did in that exact moment.

"It was Merle's idea, that one. 'Fore he grew up, went in the army, n' hardened inta what he was. We were pretty young when he thought it up. Hadda get some fake ta get it done, too. 'Sposed to represent us, the two little demons flyin' away from all our problems, n' gettin' away from all the bad shit plaguing us." Daryl didn't need to mention that the problems they had been wanting to escape still colored his flesh; Rick already understood that.

Rick didn't say a word, just wrapped his arm over Daryl's chest and pulled him into his embrace, Daryl's scarred back pressed against Rick's smooth chest, two imperfect halves of one very perfect whole.


	4. I Don't Belong Here, And I'm Not Well

**Ok, this chapter is weird, because I'm kind of depressed right now, so I think I was using it as a way to express and vent my feelings, while still applying it to the characters and the storyline. Plus I'm kinda tired, so I might have ranted a bit, or made a few mistakes. I really hope it came out alright, since I don't have the time or the patience to read through it right now. **

**Chapter 4: I Don't Belong Here, And I'm Not Well**

Daryl skirted the outer perimeter of the prison, keeping a sharp eye out for any children that had wandered into the area, or other person that had happened to break the rules by slipping away for some peace and quiet; not that he would tell on them, of course, since he was out there for the same reason. He was surprised that none of the walkers had spotted or smelled him yet, though he wasn't about to complain about a lack of dead people around him.

The scent of growing grass, trampled weeds, and blooming flowers swirled around him, helping to clear his thoughts of anything unwanted. He had always enjoyed nature, had always felt like he belonged in a cabin in the woods, passing time with hunting and gathering, like the folks of ye olden days.

A few more feet and he would be surrounded by trees and enveloped in the shade of their branches. A gentle smile, one he had never shown to anyone else, spread over his lips, filling his face with a hidden joy as he entered the forest; he finally felt home.

He tried to fill his mind with the sights and sounds of the woods, but Rick's face kept interrupting his thoughts, and something akin to worry gnawed at his insides. Daryl couldn't keep himself from feeling like he wasn't good enough for the sheriff, no matter how many times Rick told him otherwise.

Daryl had never fit in anywhere to begin with. His parents didn't really love him, not when his father beat him and his mother drank and smoke and got herself killed just to be able to ignore the abuse. Merle didn't love him, and never had his best interest in mind, regardless of all the times he'd played that particular line. Merle had used him to get into the Atlanta group, and then back into the prison; he'd probably even told the Governor that he was looking for his baby brother just to gain a little sympathy, and maybe move up the ranks a little. Daryl certainly hadn't fit into the Atlanta group, with or without Merle around. They looked at him like he was a freak, an outsider, just because he preferred to spend time alone than socialize. They treated him like he was stupid just because he talked with a drawl deeper than the rest of theirs and added slang they couldn't always understand to his conversations. He had only earned his keep after searching for Sophia so long, and that was still only because Rick had decided he was worthy of something.

Perhaps that was when he'd started loving Rick. Rick had treated him like he was a normal human being, like he was one of the good ones. Rick trusted his tracking skills, relied on them quite heavily during that time, even, and never questioned his knowledge of the woods or his methods of trying to find that little girl. If Daryl was being honest with himself, Rick was the only person in the world who had ever treated him that way, and that was what had really sparked something in his heart for the sheriff.

So how could someone as kind as Rick love someone as damaged as Daryl? Daryl had done things he wasn't proud of, before and after the apocalypse; he did such things because it was necessary to his survival, at least m0st of the time, but it wasn't like he'd wanted to do them, or relished them. Daryl had been the criminal, the outlaw, the villain in a children's story book, and Rick had been the cop, the good guy, the hero who would always defeat the monster, even now when the lines between good and bad were more than blurred. Rick had always been just that much better than Daryl, and Daryl knew he could never reach that height of greatness. No one would ever look at him like he was a leader, not that he really wanted that, because they would be too afraid that he would lead them down the path to destruction. Rick, though, no problem; they'd only known him for a short while before all of them instinctively looked to him, no matter how many times his plans fell through, or how wrong his decisions seemed.

So, again, why did Rick want Daryl so much? Daryl didn't have an answer to such a question. Never had the redneck felt so inadequate than when he stood beside Rick; never had he felt so significant than when he laid beside Rick at night; it was a vicious cycle.

Daryl sat under the low branches of a pine tree, staring into the vast expanse of wildlife as he pondered his place in life.

He was the odd man out in the group, regardless of how many times he had saved everyone's skins. He didn't mind that too much, considering that was how his entire life had gone, but he realized the consequences of such a position: he could leave, right that second, and no one but Rick would even care that he were gone; he still wasn't sure about Rick, either.

Of course, with a group so small, they'd notice his absence. One or two might even make the argument that they needed him, and then Rick would probably send a few out searching for him, or at least for his remains. After a while, though, they'd probably just slip back into the relative normalcy their lives had taken on, and he'd be just another distant memory. How long, Daryl wondered, would Rick mourn him if he left? How long would he lie alone at night, longing for the hunter's touch, and reach out for him in sleep only to recoil once he remembered that Daryl was no longer there? Probably no more than a week.

"I don't belong here." Daryl whispered to himself, his voice ghosting through the still forest air. His words hung heavy in the silence, no breeze to blow them away, no noises to distract from them, and Daryl took it as a sort of sign that what he had said was right.

He would leave, then, right that very second. He had his knife, and his crossbow, and the clothes on his back; he had survived with less, anyway. He could easily make it through the woods and back out to some other safe place that the group had overlooked for being too small, or something. He could hunt for his food, and stray along a creek's worn path, taking from the stream the water that he would need.

Daryl rose to his feet, looking around at all the possible paths to go down, when he turned back toward the way he'd come, his eyes lighting on the prison. The building was run-down, but sturdy, and the sun shined brightly on the outer bricks of the walls and the blacktop with the basketball hoop that had miraculously remained. For some reason he could even see the makeshift wooden crosses marking the graves of those long since buried, but never forgotten.

Maybe the sight of the graves were what changed his mind; if the group could bury so many people and still remember all of them in perfect clarity, then how could they ever forget one of the living who had wandered away? Rick had never forgotten Morgan, even though it had been nearly a year before they had been able to reconnect, so why would Daryl think for even a second that Rick would forget about him, someone whom he had said he loved?

Daryl shook his head. How could he have been so stupid? If he belonged anywhere it was in that prison beside the only person left in the world that he cared about. He turned on his heal and marched back to the dilapidated building, cursing at himself the whole way there. How stupid, indeed, to think that he would be able to live without Rick for even a second, even if the sheriff could survive without him forever.


	5. Step Away From The Ledge I'm Coming Down

**Chapter 5: Step Away From The Ledge, I'm Coming Down**

Rick, starting to feel the exhaustion of staying up all night, decided to take a day off from watch duty and simply roam the grounds of the prison. He wandered aimlessly around the blacktop area, to the expansive field, and finally stumbled upon the graves of those they'd lost.

Maybe he'd meant to visit the dead all along, because when he saw those crosses in front of him he felt a certain kind of peace wash over his body. Andrea, Merle, T-Dog, Lori, and back in distant places Shane and Dale and Sophia and Otis and Jacqui and Jim and Amy, all laid to rest in the ground somewhere, never to return to the living. How many more would they lose before it was all over? They had been so strong before, one large group of survivors beating the odds of the apocalypse, and now they were weak, just a few stragglers left over from a tidal wave of death and destruction that still threatened to collapse them. How long before they could all rest in peace in that place called Paradise?

Rick knelt down beside the graves, resting on his haunches, one arm lain over one knee, and for the first time in a long time he wept. He wept for his best friend, who had turned into a completely different person under the pressure of this world. He wept for his wife, who he never even got to say goodbye to before she slipped away from him after giving birth to their beautiful baby girl. He wept for the blond angel, who had just wanted to keep the peace so that no one else would die, and had finally found her sister again. He wept for the unsung hero, who had given his life to save Carol's. He wept for the man with the fisherman's hat and cheap Hawaiian shirt, who had managed to keep his morals through it all. He wept for the golden-haired cherub, who had lost her way in the woods and become prey long before her time. He wept for those he could not remember, for those whose names he would never know, for the anonymous dead that surrounded them. He even wept for Merle, who had stumbled upon the path of righteousness in the final moments of his life, but had still taken a part of Daryl's heart with him.

Daryl, one of the few precious things left in his life. Daryl, who had stayed so strong through all this life had thrown at him. Daryl, who chose to be calm and rational and compassionate, rather than angry and rash and filled with hatred at everything around him. Rick wished he could be more like Daryl now, when he was supposed to be the fearless leader to his small family. Rick wished he could have the strength to persevere through even the worst things that had happened to him, instead of hallucinating their voices over disconnected phone lines and his wife in that angelic white dress she always wore now. He couldn't even keep Carl in line anymore; the boy had no respect for him now, though he once adored his father and wanted nothing more to follow in his footsteps.

Rick sighed heavily, the rising sun beating down on his back. Why couldn't he be like that redneck he now loved? He didn't deserve Daryl at all, that much was clear. He couldn't protect his wife, or his best friend, or the others he cared for so much, so how could he ever protect this man he adored? Everyone around him was in danger, now more than ever, and if anything happened to them it would be on his head, especially if anything happened to Daryl. How would he even get up in the morning if he knew he wouldn't be waking up to those blue eyes, that messy brown hair, and the heart of gold that resided in that perfectly tanned and sculpted chest?

"Give me the strength, Lord, to be all that I can be, for him." Rick whispered to the grass and dirt around him.

He would do all he could to keep Daryl safe and happy in this life they shared, would do everything in his power to get Daryl to love him back in the same way he loved Daryl. The way his heart palpitated in his chest when he simply thought the man's name was like a safety vest keeping him afloat through the weight of the roiling waves trying to drown him, and he hoped for nothing more than Daryl someday feeling that way for him, too.

Rick rose to his feet, throwing one last look at the graves as he walked back to the prison. As long as one of those crosses was never resurrected in Daryl's honor, he could survive.


	6. Remedy

**Chapter 6: Remedy**

Rick rolled to the side, the cool of empty sheets waking him from the restless sleep he'd managed to slip into early on in the night. He was in his own cell, but Daryl wasn't beside him, as he had somewhat come to expect, and a certain sorrow brought him near to tears.

He shifted so that he was in a sitting position, his legs dangling off the edge of the mattress, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He remembered dreaming that he was gripping Daryl's hand tightly, begging him to just give him one more chance, before Daryl pulled his fingers from the sheriff's and turned away; all in all it was the worst nightmare he'd ever had, and the urge to shake off the remnants of it was too strong to ignore.

He rose from the bed, tip-toeing down to Daryl's perch, and was disappointed to find the area empty. Where had Daryl slipped off to in the middle of the night?

Suddenly it hit Rick exactly where the redneck would be: the guard tower. It was perfect to fend off the night's chill, and still maintained privacy and solitude, the two things Daryl seemed to crave more than anything as of late. Rick made his way down the stairs as quietly as possible, hoping against hope that he wouldn't wake anyone and alert them to what he was doing.

Once outside the sheriff wrapped his arms around himself, biting back the shivers that threatened to overtake him. Why the day was so hot while the night was so cold he would never understand. He quickly climbed the stairs to the tower, and this time didn't bother to knock on the closed door before rushing in, too eager to get out of the cold to try and be respectful.

Daryl jumped up when Rick burst in the room, bringing his knife up in a tightly clenched fist. His eyes were wide and feral, ready to kill if he had to, but they relaxed when they took in Rick's shaking form.

"What're ya doin' up?" Daryl asked, sitting back down on the wall counter and laying his knife aside.

"Woke up to an empty bed, and wondered where you were." Rick didn't care how stupid that sounded; in that moment he was just glad to see Daryl.

Daryl nodded, patting the space beside him as an invitation to the sheriff to come and sit with him. Daryl wouldn't admit it, but he wanted the company, and maybe a hug.

Without a word Rick plopped down next to Daryl and wrapped an arm around the other man's shoulders, as if he'd been reading his mind the whole time. Daryl didn't speak, either, as he inched closer into the sheriff's side, taking comfort in the warmth.

Rick broke the silence first. "What were you thinking about, up here all by yourself?"

Daryl pressed his lips together in a taut line, not sure if he really wanted to answer the question. He stayed silent for a long time, and Rick stayed patient throughout his stubborn quiet, willing to wait any amount of time for the answer; Rick wanted to walk the hallways of Daryl's inner labyrinth, find out all the secrets, and know the place inside and out.

"Was thinkin' 'bout us, actually. You, more specifically." Daryl gave no other explanation to his answer, and Rick knew he'd probably have to force it out of him.

But as much as Rick wanted to know the inner machinations of the redneck's brain, he was filled with dread over what those thoughts had been. Was Daryl thinking about calling it quits? Was this the moment Rick had been expecting for so long, though he prayed every day that it would never come? He wasn't sure he could live with that, wasn't sure he could live without Daryl staying as close to him as he now was, not when there was so much love inside the sheriff for this man, not when Daryl made his broken life seem so much more complete.

Rick mulled it over for much too long, trying to decide whether or not ignorance truly was bliss. But he had always been a curious man, and, though the truth could kill him, he had to know it, anyway.

He swallowed all the fear and anxiety in a rough gulp that nearly stuck in his throat, balling it away until it was absolutely necessary, and somehow managed to work up the courage to ask, "What about me?"

Daryl's body grew rigid under Rick's arm, and the sheriff was certain that this was the end of their relationship, the end of all meaning to his life. What would he do when Daryl finally spit out those fateful words, "I don't love you"? The way he was feeling now he was liable to just take a swan dive off the damn tower right after. Sure, he had his kids, but they couldn't hold his heart the way Daryl could; now, though, Daryl was going to tear his heart to pieces.

"Was thinkin' 'bout how you're such a good person, an' I'm not. I don't deserve a guy like you, Rick, don't deserve someone thinkin' I walk on water when all I do is sink right down to the fucking bottom like the piece of shit I am. Never been much good to an'body in my life, and it's not like ya couldn't do better'n me. I mean, lookit Lori. She loved ya 'til her dyin' breath, and she was the kinda person who did deserve you. I'm sucha step down from her." Daryl let the words flow out of him in a rush, as if her were ripping off a large bandaid; it was always best to just get it over with quickly, since it hurt less that way. By the time he finished, though, tears had sprung into the corners of his eyes and threatened to fall. He sniffled slightly, hoping the sheriff didn't notice; that would make him just that much weaker in Rick's eyes, and he was certain Rick didn't think all too highly of him in the first place.

Rick's eyes widened as he took in everything Daryl had said. Every word was the furthest thing from the truth, but he could hear in Daryl's voice that he truly believed everything he'd said. Rick wish he'd been a better speaker so that he could put into words every assurance Daryl needed, and make him feel like the most amazing person in the world, because that's what he was.

"I'm not a good person, Daryl." Was all Rick managed to push out of his throat at first. There was so much more to say, but he had no idea where to begin.

Daryl waited as patiently as possible, keeping his eyes on the ground and trying not to get his hopes up.

"If anything, I don't deserve you. You deserve so much better than this person that I am. You've got a heart of gold, Daryl, you just don't realize it because of how people in your life have treated you. They were wrong about you, though. You're not a piece of shit; you never have, and you never will be. I know it'll take a while to correct that way of thinking, and if you'll let me I want to be there for you every step of the way. I want to help you Daryl. I want to help you realize your potential." Rick tightened his hold on the redneck's shoulders, pulling him as close into his embrace as possible.

They'd done it; they'd finally broken the largest barrier between them. All of the feelings of inadequacy, all of the doubts, were out on the table now, and they could all be wiped away with a few meaningful words. Rick would do everything possible to make sure Daryl knew just how special he was, and Daryl would do all he could to make Rick see his greatness.

Rick looked down at Daryl, placing a hand under his chin and pulling it up gently, making sure Daryl's eyes met his own before saying the words he'd been longing to say for too many months. "Daryl, I love you. I knew from the second I saw you that there was something beautiful in you waiting to show itself, and I'm so happy that you're allowing me to be the one to see it."

And then he leaned forward, closing the minimal gap between them, and pressed his lips to Daryl's. The kiss was sweet, gentle, caring, loving, giving, and everything else that they had ever needed or wanted all wrapped up in one perfect package. It was a kiss to get lost in, the kind where you fall more in love with every movement of lip or tongue, the kind that leads to a physical representation of a couple's adoration.

Suddenly Rick was lying flat on the countertop with Daryl on top of him, tongues sharing dominance as their bodies melded into one being. Clothes were shed hastily and dropped to the floor without a care until the two men were skin against skin, a muscular and tan abdomen melting into a pale, toned stomach, legs thrown over each other without a care.

This time was different than the first time back in the cell the day prior. That was an experiment, a test to see how they would fit together when they finally collided, to prepare them for all that was to come. This would be counted as the real first time. This time was filled with nothing but the soul-deep love they felt for each other, and it was more a confirmation of hearts than a collision of flesh. This was the time they would remember with the most clarity when they thought of their nighttime escapades in the future.

That night they lay on a blanket Daryl had dragged along with him, using their discarded clothes as pillows, curled into each other's warmth. This was the love Rick had thought he'd had with Lori. This was the love Daryl had been hoping to find all his life. In that moment they realized that they were soul mates, and nothing could ever tear them apart.


	7. Bent

**Chapter 7: Bent**

Over the next few days Rick and Daryl were rarely apart, and when they were separated it was never for a long amount of time. They ate meals sitting beside one another, took watch at the same time, did perimeter checks together, and slept in the same bed at night, usually in Rick's cell so that he could keep an eye on Judith, but occasionally in Daryl's perch if the redneck was feeling particularly restless.

Every second together was precious, and both men took each new day as a Godsend, thanking their lucky stars that they had another twenty-four hours to share their love. Every nightfall that dimmed their skin in muted moonlight was an unspoken goodbye, just in case; every sunrise that reflected in the waters of the other's blue eyes was a gift, unwrapped with long, slow kisses that melted the night's worried heartache from their bones.

The depression and feelings of self-depreciation still haunted Daryl, though, and he still felt uncomfortable opening up about what was hidden inside of his heart, no matter how many times Rick clasped his hand tightly, smiled that understanding smile he had, and told him he loved him.

That first night he had let his feelings show, up in the guard tower, was a bit of an accident. Daryl had never planned on telling Rick all of that, it had just tumbled out of him under the weight of Rick's concern. He had felt Rick's anxiety seeping through him, and Daryl couldn't just let the man suffer thinking he wasn't the center of the redneck's universe. However, he still preferred to keep everything bottled inside; that didn't stop Rick from trying to help Daryl, though.

One night they lay wrapped in each other's arms, a thin blanket covering them so that they could absorb more body heat from the other and stay warm. Daryl tossed and turned relentlessly, unable to sleep, which kept Rick awake.

"What's the matter, Daryl?" Rick whispered in the darkness as Daryl shifted yet again on the slim mattress; if the redneck didn't stop his fidgeting he was liable to throw Rick to the floor.

"Nothin'." Daryl threw out, a little too quickly. Rick could hear the catch in his voice, the one he got when he was nervous about something; it was easy to miss if you didn't know the man as well as the sheriff did.

Daryl made to move again, but before he could Rick threw an arm around the redneck's torso, holding him still. Daryl immediately relaxed into Rick's embrace, his muscles going slack.

Rick pressed his lips to the hollow below Daryl's ear, pecking the skin there softly before whispering, "You can tell me, if you want to, Daryl."

Daryl hesitated, chewing on his lower lip. He knew Rick would listen to what he had to say, but he felt like he would be burdening the sheriff with his stupid feelings if he let them out. It would be so much easier to just say he was fine, keep everything inside still, but the way Rick's arm squeezed lovingly against his abdomen nearly pushed all of his secrets out with it. Fine, he would tell Rick, then. Rick had said he wanted to help him, right?

Daryl, his subconscious stubborn even when he was willing to give in, kept his explanation short. "Just havin' a moment'a depression's all."

Rick ran his fingers lightly through Daryl's hair, brushing the strands off of his forehead, as a way to soothe him. He didn't speak for several moments, feeling that it would be better to just hold the redneck and let him know that he was going to stay and help him, no matter what. Rick kept his arm firmly wrapped around Daryl's waist, holding him close as he placed gentle kisses from forehead down to jaw and back up again.

The tenderness made Daryl want to cry, and he shut his eyes against the onslaught of tears threatening to burst through. This was what he always needed, though he'd never admit that to anyone, and he reveled in the attention that he had never before had. He didn't know what else to say, but he figured that Rick would coax more out of him in due time, so he stayed quiet and simply enjoyed the comfort he was receiving.

"What's the depression about? Did something happen today?" Rick kept his voice pitched low, more for Daryl's sake than for fear of waking the others.

Daryl shook his head no, the loose tendrils of his hair brushing against Rick's chin and throat. "Don' know why I'm depressed; just kinda am. Prolly sounds stupid, right?" Daryl tucked his chin down into his chest, as if he could curl into himself and hide from all these pathetic emotions raging through him. He was being stupid, and Rick would probably just laugh and roll away, telling him to man up, or something like that.

But Rick didn't laugh or pull away; instead he tightened his hold on Daryl, practically crushing the man to his chest, and kissed at the corner of his lips.

"It's not stupid, Daryl. You can't help how you feel. I know what it's like to be depressed for, seemingly, no reason, too. Tell me what I can do to help you." Rick leaned up just slightly, enough to look into Daryl's eyes.

Daryl bit back the tears that welled up again, closing his eyes against Rick's piercing blue ones.

"I don't know, Rick. Never really had anyone who'd help me 'fore. But what yer doin' right now is pretty damn nice." Daryl wriggled ever closer to Rick, no room left between them, and twined his leg around one of the sheriff's.

Rick curled his free leg over the redneck's in response, bringing his other arm around to wrap under Daryl's shoulders. He shifted so that Daryl's head was now resting between his chest and shoulder, and placed his chin on the top of Daryl's head.

"I know you're not much for talkin', but if you think it'll make you feel better then you babble away as much as you want, okay? And if you don't wanna do that, then I'll just hold you, all night if you need me to. I love you, Daryl." Rick twirled his fingers through the strands of hair at the back of Daryl's neck, toying with them as he spoke. He promised Daryl long ago that he'd do everything he could to protect him, even from himself.

Daryl nodded, holding back the tears having made him sleepy, and cuddled into Rick's side. He didn't speak, because he didn't need to; everything he'd ever wanted to say passed between them on the air they breathed. He chose instead to sing the words he thought would properly describe his feelings.

"This shouldn't be so complicated. Just touch me, and then, well, just touch me again. Can you help me unbend? I'm so scared that I'll never get put back together. Keep breaking me in, and this is how we will end, with you and me bent." Daryl's voice canted over the words, infused with the perfect harmony, and Rick was struck by just how much talent his love truly had, though he had never shown.

Somewhere in the recesses of his brain, Rick recognized the song, though he couldn't name the title of it, or the band who sang it. He remembered it had been a sad song, once upon a time, but the way Daryl sang it made it seem like the most perfect love song this side of the apocalypse, and what's more Daryl believed it was, too.

They were bent, in a sense, anyway. Two unlikely lovers having found each other only after the world fell apart. They almost had the walkers to thank for bringing them together, because if those damn things hadn't taken over the world they never would have found each other. Rick sounded like a major ass for thinking it, but he wouldn't want the world back the way it was if it meant he had to give up Daryl.

The two fell asleep that way, curled so closely into each other that they almost became one being. Neither moved for the rest of the night, and when he woke Daryl had a smile on his face.


	8. Lift Me Up

**Chapter 8: Lift Me Up**

Rick blinked his eyes open lazily, the sleep clouding them for several seconds before he became fully awake. The first thing he noticed was that the sheets beside him were warm, wrinkled, and empty of Daryl's soft form. He must have moved recently for the sheets to still be smelling of him and holding his body heat.

Rick sat up slightly, propping himself up on his elbow so that he could survey the cell, and saw Daryl sitting on the stool at the end of the bed. He didn't seem to notice that Rick was even awake; his legs were bare, his eyes focused intently on them. He brushed his fingers lightly back and forth over his inner thighs, seemingly mesmerized by them. Rick was about to make a remark about Daryl finally going crazy, when he noticed the faint scars trailing up and down Daryl's smooth flesh.

These marks weren't like the ones on his back; these were more precise, as if they had been made with the specific purpose of pain in mind. Daryl's eyes were clouded with a mix of tears and memories as he stared at these scars, his fingers continuing to trace over them in a reverie.

Rick shifted on the mattress, crawling closer to the edge until he was within reaching distance of his love. He extended his arm until his fingers were ghosting over Daryl's, and then he clasped the other man's hand tightly, stopping the movement.

Daryl froze at Rick's touch, the icy fingers of rejection and fear ripping through his veins. The one secret he had never shared with anyone, least of all Rick, was now out in the open.

"Who did this to you?" Rick whispered, certain he knew the answer already.

Daryl swallowed roughly, trying to force the answer back down inside himself, but he couldn't hide from the sheriff any longer. He had to tell Rick everything now, and trust him with his past like he trusted him with his own life; it was the only way he could get better, the only way they would work together.

"Did it to m'self." Daryl whispered back, his voice so low that Rick could barely hear it.

"Why?" Rick forced the word out, biting back the emotions welling inside of him; how tragic to see that this beautiful soul had felt so worthless that he felt the need to bleed, just to remember that he was alive.

"It was the only kind of pain I could control."

Rick could no longer form words. Instead, he tugged gently at Daryl's hand, still folded securely in his own, ushering him back to the bed beside him. Daryl reluctantly plunked down beside the sheriff, trying to hide the scars marring his skin. Rick reached down and lightly traced his fingertips over the marks that were still visible, needing to feel that they weren't recent, needing to pretend he could erase them.

Rick felt a single drop of wetness hit the back of his hand, and when he looked up Daryl's eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, tears coursing down his cheeks in rivers. The man looked so sad and alone and forlorn, looked like the lost little boy he had been so long ago when he'd taken a razor to his thighs.

"Please, Daryl, tell me." Rick cupped the redneck's cheek in his calloused hand, wiping the tears away with his thumb.

Daryl sniffled, averting his eyes to the floor. "Was a long time 'go, Rick. Don't matter no more."

"It does matter, Daryl. It matters because as long as you still hold the pain in your heart you'll never fully heal. Please." Rick tilted Daryl's chin upward, making their eyes meet. This was the one time he couldn't just accept the other man's brush-offs, and 'I'm fine's. He had to pry, much as he didn't want to, because he wanted Daryl to know that he could tell him anything and everything under the sun and none of it would change the way Rick felt for him.

Daryl sighed, and something in him seemed to break completely. "Back when Merle was locked up in juvy the first time, and mama was already dead, dad was gettin' more drunk n' usual. Wasn't a night he didn' stumble through that front door, reekin' 'a cheap whiskey. He'd been gettin' more violent lately, too, and ever'day it was somethin' new I'd done ta piss 'im off. You've seen my back; won't re-hash alla that. But basically I needed to feel some kinda control over m'own life, m'own body. So I scrapped up whatever razors I could find, n' put 'em to my skin. No one ever noticed. No one would ever have cared if they had."

The floodgates holding back all the pain, all the horrid memories, he'd been keeping locked inside burst wide open, and swept Rick away in their tidal wave. He tried to think of something to say, anything that could make Daryl feel at least a little bit better about his past, but the words were too jumbled in his head, too trapped in his throat to push out.

Rick had his own tales to tell, and now was as good a time as any to do so. He leaned over on the bed, reaching past his boots for the stash of matches he kept with him. He deftly struck one to flaming and raised it to his left wrist, lighting on the long-faded scars residing there. Daryl's eyes grew wide as he looked at the sheriff's skin, and his eyes snapped up to Rick's face, searching for answers.

Rick waved the match out, flicking it across the cell, before finally speaking. "Had a few botched suicide attempts back when I was a teen. I don't remember them all too clearly anymore, but I remember what the depression felt like, how it seemed like I was drowning and no one was coming to help me. I remember what it felt like when the blade sliced through my skin, the rush I felt when the sting of the pain flowed through me, and how powerful I felt when the blood started to seep out of the wound. So don't ever think you're alone, okay? Because you're not alone, Daryl, and as long as I'm here you never will be."

Rick smiled tenderly at Daryl, a few tears falling from the corners of his own eyes as he took the redneck's hands in his own, giving them an affectionate squeeze, and leaned in to kiss Daryl's still surprised lips.

In a way it made sense; only someone who had known such pain could sympathize well with others, could want to help others, and all Rick had ever wanted to do was help people. If Daryl had any doubts about soul mates and true love they were all wiped clean now, because Rick was the only person in the world who fit perfectly beside him.

The strongest people, the sweetest people, the people worth loving, had to grow by struggling through the obstacles in front of them. They stumbled, they bled, they relapsed again and again, but in the end their moral compass was set strictly on the straight and narrow; perhaps that's what made them so great.


	9. Disappear

**Chapter 9: Disappear**

After the morning's heart to heart, Daryl decided to go do a little hunting while Rick attended to a matter concerning the Woodbury folk. Daryl knew he probably wouldn't see Rick for the remainder of the day, and since he didn't particularly want to spend time around anyone else, he figured now would be the perfect time to try and scrounge up another night's meal in the form of squirrel or wild rabbit.

Daryl grabbed his bowie knife and his trusty crossbow, slinging the strap over the shoulder of his angel-wing vest, and once again stayed to the outer perimeter of the prison, doing everything possible to become invisible to any others who happened to be out and about.

He wandered farther into the forest that day than he usually would, having found no trace of animals any closer to the building. His footsteps were silent against the fallen leaves and dirt that made up the forest floor, crouching low to the ground to check for animal prints marking the pathways.

As he delved deeper into the heart of the woods, he came across a new set of footprints. They looked to have been made by combat style boots, and whoever it was hadn't pussyfooted through the forest like common sense would have suggested. Daryl was immediately on edge, his senses pricking up to alert him to anyone trying to sneak up on him. This person could be one of the Governor's soldiers, which would make sense considering their war hadn't been all that long ago. No doubt the asshole had recruited others to help him out, and of course they would be all brawn and no brain; those were the ones who wouldn't backtalk.

Daryl stopped near a large tree, getting his bearings together. The other's footprints seemed to be leading farther into the forest rather than towards the prison, so maybe it wasn't one of the Governor's cronies after all. It could just be a new survivor, lost in the woods, wandering around scared. Or it could be a walker who happened to have been wearing boots at the time of his death. It never hurt to be paranoid, though, Daryl had learned early on.

A bird's call sounded somewhere above him in the trees, and his head swiveled in the direction the noise had come from. As his head turned he heard something else, like a faint whistling resounding over a long distance, and then a dull pinprick in the back of his neck.

It was probably nothing more than one of the pesky mosquitos that never seemed to leave the area. Daryl reached up to brush the insect away, but his arm seemed to move slower, as if he were underwater. His mind clouded, wondering why there were mosquitos underwater in the first place. His vision swam before his eyes, one never-ending blur of green, with the occasional splotch of brown. He felt himself starting to fall forward, down into the depths of water he could swear he was swimming in, and his last coherent thought was fear that he would drown if he couldn't wake up enough to swim to the top.

It was near to sunset by the time Rick made it back to his group over in C Block. He paused a moment to marvel over the way the dimming sun threw pink light over the bricks and stones and bars, and made the prison seem almost like a thing of beauty. He smiled to himself as he walked along, his mind filling with Daryl's face and the way his blue eyes shimmered in this light.

Rick was deluding himself with fantasies of a semi-naked Daryl as he rounded the corner to his group's cropping of cells. He skidded to a stop once the look on everyone's face hit him, and he instantly knew something was wrong. Someone was missing, and everything in him screamed for it to please just not be Daryl. But as he quickly took account of those around him, his worst fears were confirmed: Daryl wasn't there.

"Where's Daryl?" Rick asked anxiously, his eyes skipping from face to face and finding the same question residing in all of them.

"He should have been back by now, since it's getting dark. Maybe he just managed to track down a deer?" Carol piped up from beside Beth, the two of them holding and feeding Judith like doting mothers; Rick would almost have preferred Daryl taking that job for the rest of their inevitably short lives, since the girl loved him so much.

Carol remembered the first time Daryl had managed to hunt down a deer, back in Atlanta. It had taken him at least three hours to corner it and shoot an arrow or two in its flank, and if he'd caught on to one in this area it could take much longer considering the expanse of vegetation and the overpopulation of walkers.

"I guess that's possible, except for the fact that he's been gone for nearly eight hours. Doesn't seem like Daryl to have to track something that long, and he'd be keeping an especially sharp eye on the color of the sky during this time." Rick shot Carol's suggestion down harshly; he didn't mean to hurt the woman's feelings, but the ball of stress that had knotted itself into his stomach was putting him on edge.

"You think something happened to him?" Glenn asked from where he perched next to Maggie.

Rick nodded solemnly. He knew Daryl well enough to know that even if he had tracked down a deer he would be back before sunset, or at least nightfall, no matter what.

"I'm sure he's fine." Maggie said, trying to calm the group's nerves.

"I've gotta go out and find him." Rick turned on his heal, grabbing a communal jacket that hung from a hook on the wall as he made for the exit.

"Now hold on a minute, Rick." Hershel's voice sounded behind him, an authoritative tone masking his worry. Rick turned back to face the man, watching him prop himself on his crutches and come a few steps closer. "Even if something did happen to Daryl, it's nearly nightfall. No way could you go out there right now; you wouldn't be able to see anything, wouldn't even know where to look. Plus it's much too dangerous to be out there alone right now, what with the Governor still on the loose. I'm sure Daryl will wander in soon enough, and if he doesn't then we can collect a search team together to look with you in the morning."

Hershel was right, Rick knew, and if it was anyone else he would probably have given in, but this was Daryl, his soul mate. Rick opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it when he saw Michonne and Glenn step to Hershel's side, preparing to stop him by force if they needed to.

Rick side, taking a deep breath to hold back the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks, and nodded to the others to show that he would stay there for the night. Though how he would get to sleep without Daryl at least in the prison he didn't know.

Daryl blinked his eyes open slowly, his vision still somewhat hazy. His head was pounding, and it reminded him vaguely of his first hangover. He couldn't tell where he was, just that the place was dark, the only light a hanging lightbulb dangling from somewhere above him.

It occurred to him then that he was sitting in a padded, yet still oddly uncomfortable, chair. He tried to stand, but couldn't move his ankles or wrists. He struggled, thinking his body was just fighting him, when the realization that he was strapped to the seat struck him. He could suddenly feel the leather straps holding him in place with perfect clarity, as well as the rag in his mouth being used as a makeshift gag. It tasted like dust and motor oil, and he thought there was a faint hint of blood, too; it made his mouth feel overly dry, and he felt like vomiting.

As his senses became fully alert he began to struggle harder, trying to loosen the straps by moving them in every possible direction. He wriggled in the chair for nearly twenty minutes before the sound of a door latch being unlocked made him stop. His head snapped up, eyes probing the darkness for where an opening might be, when light began to spill into the room from directly in front of him.

A silhouette appeared in the entryway and stood there for a few minutes, simply staring at him, and Daryl could practically feel the smugness emanating from the mystery person. Finally they grew bored with just looking at Daryl, and stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind them.

Daryl's eyes grew wide as the Governor stepped into the small circle of light around him.

"Hello, Daryl."


	10. Eyes Of The Devil

**Chapter 10: Eyes Of The Devil**

Daryl's eyes narrowed to slits, cold as ice, and he wished that looks really could kill. The Governor stood there, smirking at him, enjoying the reaction Daryl was giving him. Watching Daryl struggle angrily, thinking he had any hope of getting away, was almost as satisfying as seeing Rick do the same was sure to be; and Phillip did have some very interesting plans in mind for the two of them.

Phillip held up a syringe, squirting some of the oddly colored fluid into the air as he pushed lightly on the plunger. "Do you know what's in here, Daryl."

Daryl gave him the most sarcastic look he could muster, unable to actually answer because there was still a gag in his mouth. The redneck had the urge to roll his eyes, but wondered if that might be overplaying things.

"Oh, so sorry, I forgot you couldn't speak." Philip grinned and gingerly pulled the rag from Daryl's lips, tossing it aside with a quick flick of his wrist. "Let me ask again, do you know what's in here?"

"Don't fuckin' care what's in there, if m'bein' honest. Just wanna know what the fuck you got me chained up in here for." Daryl spit at the man's boots, half out of disrespect and half out of just wanting to get the awful taste of the rag off of his tongue.

"Patience, redneck, we'll get to that soon enough. Let me at least tell you about what I'm about to inject into your body." Phillip pushed a little bit more of the liquid out of the syringe, taking a step closer to Daryl.

Daryl pulled back as far as he could from the other man, trying not to show his distaste for what was in his hand. Daryl had never liked needles much in the first place, especially when they were filled with some unknown substance sure to hurt him. The grimace on his face was quite easily read, though, and Philip chuckled with an odd sort of glee.

"This is adrenaline, Daryl. Do you know what the different doses of adrenaline will do to the body? If it's a small amount it can give you a rush of energy, a 'pick-me-up', if you will. If it's a fairly large amount it can stop the heart completely, because the rush of endorphins will cause the heart to falter, and then fail; I've even heard cases of the heart exploding. But an amount that's right in the middle of those two, the amount in this syringe, actually, will make the heart beat so quickly that the body will be completely paralyzed, save for eye movement and use of vocal chords. Not only that, but it will keep the heart beating, regardless of what is happening to the body. It heightens every sense, specifically the sense of touch, so you can still feel everything that's happening to you, too. Isn't it marvelous?"

Daryl's lip curled up in a sneer of hatred; he had a fairly good idea of what the Governor had planned for him now. "Y'gonna get to the damn point anytime soon?"

Phillip's arm darted out, quick as a viper, the back of his hand colliding painfully against Daryl's cheek and jaw. "Impudence will get you nowhere, redneck. Best behave yourself, or things will only get worse for you."

Daryl snarled through clenched teeth, a low growl emanating from deep in his chest, and spit blood on the floor. He struggled at the restraints again, doing his hardest to lunge at the vile creature in front of him and beat him to within an inch of his life.

Phillip chuckled once more. "Quite a predicament you're in, eh? It's quite useless to struggle, though; I've got you locked in tight. Don't want my new pet escaping on me so soon before we can start play time, would we?"

Daryl clenched his teeth together, knowing that anything he dared to say now would only result in him getting hit again; no words were going to get him out of this situation.

"How about I tell you all about my plan for the day's activities while we wait for the adrenaline to set into your veins? I've always thought it was better to know what was coming, so that I could try to prepare for it. I think it makes the pain feel so much sharper, and more exquisite, when you're waiting for it with dreadful anticipation; don't you agree?" Phillip grinned to himself, not expecting an answer to his question.

The Governor stepped forward, leaning in much too closely over Daryl; Daryl could smell the cheap cologne he must have managed to scrounge up in some forgotten store, and the dirt and dust and grime that covered every survivor's body nowadays. He gripped Daryl's forearm tightly in one hand, holding the man in place so that he could slide the needle cleanly into Daryl's vein.

Daryl tried to pull away, but perhaps the effects of the tranquilizer had made him weak, because he wasn't able to dredge up enough strength to move out of the Governor's grasp. His teeth sank into the flesh on the inside of his lower lip, holding back the protests and shiver of discomfort that flooded through him on the wave of adrenaline.

A soft warmth radiated through his arm, into his chest, and then into the rest of his body, and he suddenly felt more alert than he had in weeks. His eyes opened wider, taking in every facet of the room he was in, and now he could recognize it as the place where Andrea had died. The leather straps on his wrists and ankles bit into his skin sharper than before, their edges pushing roughly against his flesh, possibly leaving bruises. He tried to move his arms and legs, even tried to wiggle a finger or toe, but his body was trapped inside of itself, not responding to his brain's commands.

Fear, freezing cold and all encompassing, drowned him in its tidal wave, taking him under the waves to a place that was dark and lonely. His very soul lurched in his chest, trying to escape this empty place inside his mind, trying to leave his body now so that he wouldn't be subjected to the suffering the Governor had in mind for him, but his soul was as trapped as he was.

Somehow he could feel his skin grow pale, and vaguely wondered if the Governor would be able to see the difference in his face. He tried to control his eyes, make them go back to the half-lidded stare he usually wore, but they were wide open now.

"I'm sure that you can't move at all now, right? I believe that you could speak, but I've heard it's quite a strain on the vocal chords at this point. Which is fine, since all you have to do at the moment is listen." Phillip smiled, and his eyes were those of the devil; Daryl could swear they were glinting a dark, blood red in the dim light.

"I've been waiting a long time to have you captive, Daryl, and I don't intend to waste any of these precious moments we have together. We're going to start off slowly today, to really ease you into the flow of pain and torture that I have in store." As he spoke, Phillip removed the straps from Daryl's wrists and ankles, then hoisted the man over his shoulder as if he were a simple sack of flour.

Daryl didn't want to listen to him anymore, didn't want to think about the lurid plans sure to come to fruition on his skin, but there was no way for him to escape now. He couldn't move, couldn't struggle, probably couldn't even speak, though the Governor had said he would be able to scream. His ears were perked up due to the adrenaline coursing through his veins, making it hard to tune out the man's twisted words; even if Daryl could successfully tune the Governor out, his own mind was a labyrinth of darkness, freezing temperatures, growling, and walls shifting with his thoughts, and it wasn't a place he particularly wanted to be. He wasn't sure which evil was greater, the physical or the mental.

Phillip dropped him down onto a metal table, his back hitting it with a muted thud. He ran a hand slowly over Daryl's chest, down to his abdomen, and Daryl wanted to vomit from how violated he already felt.

"I have waited far too long for this." Phillip murmured, shifting Daryl so that he was now lying face down on the table.

Phillip was uncharacteristically gentle as he pulled Daryl's arms back to remove his angel-wing vest. "You think you're an angel, but you're really a demon; no one comes to save demons, Daryl." He was whispering now, and chuckling to himself, his fingers tracing their way over each of Daryl's scars.

Daryl's eyes filled with tears as flashes of his father filled his mind. When the man got too drunk, more liquored up than usual, he would speak softly and act gentle, then strike so hard and so fast that Daryl's young mind couldn't comprehend the pain until the blood was already soaking into his shirt and gushing down his back. Phillip was like his father, only so much worse, and Daryl would take a beating from his old man a hundred times over just to be released from this new hell.

Phillip grew rough then, practically ripping Daryl's jeans away from his body as he pulled them down the other man's legs. They pooled on the floor around Daryl's ankles, a puddle of faded denim.

"No underwear; how fitting. I didn't take you for a boxer or briefs man, anyway. I wonder if you ever wore anything under your pants before. Maybe they were little tighty-whiteys, hmm? Or perhaps speedos?" Phillip slapped his palm down on Daryl's ass, the sound resonating sickly in the redneck's ears.

Daryl knew what was coming, and his fear grew worse. The Governor had been right when he said the anticipation of the torture heightened the awareness of the pain. He could hear the Governor fumbling with a belt buckle, then his zipper, and the light sound of fabric moving against skin, and then the man was against him, his hips pressed right against the back of Daryl's thighs.

"How many times have you let that sheriff of yours fuck you, huh Daryl? How many times did you let him use you, pound into you again and again until he got off? Did you enjoy it when Rick did it to you?" Phillip leaned over Daryl's back, his lips nearly touching Daryl's ear. "Well, now you're going to learn to love your Governor."

Agony, that was all Daryl felt now. A fire consuming his insides, his skin tearing apart tissue by tissue, and the sobs tried to force themselves out of his barely working throat. Things had never been this way with Rick. Rick was always so gentle, so caring of how Daryl was feeling, that Daryl had never dreamed this could be so horrifyingly painful. Even with Rick things were uncomfortable, at least that first time, but this was so much more than uncomfortable; Daryl's brain swirled trying to properly describe what he was feeling now, but he was at a loss for words.

He would gladly wander the labyrinth in his brain, that place of fear and darkness and loneliness, as long as it would take some of this agony away, but that place had seemed to recede further back into his mind until it was gone completely, and all he could do was focus on the way the Governor moved inside of him, hoping it would all be over soon.


	11. Stricken

**Chapter 11: Stricken**

The rising sun lit on Rick's face through the bars of Daryl's perch's window, effectively cutting off all hopes for sleep for the sheriff. It had been a rough night full of tossing and turning and worrying, and no matter how hard he tried Rick just couldn't drift off knowing that Daryl was somewhere else other than beside him. Rick had slept in the man's bed just to bask in the scent of him that lingered on the sheets, unable to face the darkness of his own cell that night.

It was barely dawn, and no one else was up, so though Rick loathed it he lay there a while longer, listening to the sounds of his group snoring and birds chirping, and tried to clear his mind of all of the bothersome thoughts plaguing him.

Rick tried to think logically about the situation, instead. He had to assume that Daryl had been gone at least twelve hours, because of the way the others had looked when he had walked in yesterday; the hours were somewhere closer to twenty-four, actually, but Rick didn't want to put so large an estimate number on this.

In his experience as a sheriff he had been trained, and seen firsthand, that after forty-eight hours you were looking for a body, or some form of remains, but rarely ever a living person. Of course, people could go missing for eighteen years, without a trace, and come back still breathing with a lot of horror stories to tell; that was rare, even in the best circumstances, though, but it was still a small shard of hope for Rick to hold on to.

He figured Daryl had made a beeline for the woods, as he usually did early in the morning when he didn't have watch duty. He would grab Michonne and do a sweep of the surrounding area when everyone was awake, then, and if they didn't find anything then Rick would just go scoping the whole damn forest on his own if he had to; he may not be able to track as good as Daryl, but he'd picked up enough from the redneck to see signs of an animal, or a scuffle, or anything that was out of the ordinary.

Glenn and Maggie were the best when it came to runs, so he would send them out to ransack the few stores, houses, and other buildings near the prison. Carol was good with a gun, and had a rather sharp eye, so she could stay in the guard tower for a few hours, at least, and keep a lookout for Daryl. Hershel could stay with the Woodburians, make sure they didn't get up to too much trouble, while Beth stayed with the baby, and Carl could make roundtrips between them every so often. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was the best Rick could think to do for now.

Soon enough he heard movement from the others, a cell door quietly creaking open, a few people whispering to themselves about their dreams, and what not. Rick figured everyone had stayed asleep long enough, and quickly laced up his boots, buttoned his sheriff's shirt, holstered his gun, and clomped his way down the stairs. As he made his way to each cell and woke its occupants, he asked them to group together in the front area so that he could speak to them.

One by one the others trickled in behind him, most of them looking as nervous and worried as Rick felt. He had to keep his emotions under control and just be their leader; showing them how scared he was for Daryl's safety wasn't going to solve any problems that day.

Rick got right to the point of giving them their assignments; no need to beat around the bush when a man's life could be at stake. "Michonne, I want you with me when I search the woods. You might be able to notice somethin' I can't when we're out there. Glenn, Maggie, I need you to check out the stores, houses, and other buildings nearest to us; if Daryl had to run off for any reason he'd probably think to hole up in there for a night or two. Carol, you take the watch tower. Hershel, go over to where the Woodbury folk are and keep an eye on them. Beth, of course you'll stay here with Judith. Carl, go between our block and the Woodbury block every so often and just check on how everyone's doing. Stop by Carol after a while, too.

"Michonne and I will search the woods surrounding the prison first, and branch out a little at a time. If we go about a mile out and don't find anything we'll rendezvous back here, find out if anyone else has anything to report. Glenn, Maggie, once you've checked everything about five or ten miles out, come back and let us know. If no one has anything at that point then I'm going to sweep the forest as far out as it goes."

Hershel took a step forward, his eyes locked on Rick's. "What if we still don't find him after that? What are we supposed to do then? Keep on looking all over the state of Georgia?"

Rick swallowed roughly, struggling to meet the older man's gaze. He didn't want to mention the fact that he would do that if he had to, for Daryl; no way was he about to let this search go without finding at least some evidence that Daryl was either alive or dead.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now you know what to do." Rick nodded to his group and turned to leave, hearing Michonne's soft footsteps falling in line beside his.

The two were fast paced, and it took them not more than a few minutes to reach the tree line. Neither spoke as they entered the woods, though Rick put a hand on his gun and Michonne unsheathed her katana as they slowly made their way further out.

Michonne wasn't prone to talking, and she felt almost as uncomfortable asking others about their feelings as she did divulging her own, so she stayed silent with only the occasional sound of a leaf being crushed under her boot betraying her presence; Rick wasn't sure if that were a curse or a blessing that day.

Tracking wasn't nearly as consuming as Daryl always made it seem, and without any conversation to hold his attention his mind was drawn into his own whirlwind of thoughts.

What if Daryl had left? Maybe he had gotten tired of Rick, or maybe he just felt so embarrassed about his scars and his emotions that he just packed his things and hustled away, never to return. He had had several opportunities to do that in the past, though, and for much more serious reasons, but in the end he had always returned. Still, Rick couldn't help but wonder if he were the one responsible for Daryl's sudden disappearance.

What if he had been bit, and was roaming the woods as a walker right now? It seemed pretty outrageous to think that Daryl Dixon, one of the best fighters this world had ever seen, would have died so simply and suddenly. Unless he had been bit a day or so earlier, and had just been hiding the symptoms a little too well from Rick. But Rick had seen every inch of that man's body just two nights ago, and there hadn't been a mark on him, save the scars that would never fade, so that idea was out of the question; a good thing, too, since Rick didn't know how he would bring himself to put Daryl down if he ever did turn.

Whatever the reason, Rick knew he had no choice but to find Daryl; the redneck was now as essential to the sheriff's life as oxygen, and already he felt his lungs constricting around the hole Daryl's absence had created.

"Rick," Michonne's soft call broke through his reverie, and his head snapped in the direction of her voice.

Michonne was standing next to a larger than average tree, staring at something on the ground. Rick walked over, his eyes scanning the forest floor for anything out of place, and noticed that there was an excessive amount of broken leaves in this immediate area. Then he saw it, the small dart that almost blended into the myriad of nature. It was small, maybe an only an inch or two long, and a shade of green that looked like the artificial color of grass in a Better Homes and Garden's magazine.

"That's a tranquilizer dart, isn't it?" Rick could barely hear his own voice, his throat was squeezed so tightly into itself.

"Mm-hmm," Michonne hummed through closed lips, giving a slight nod. She stooped to pick it up, examining the slightly bloodied tip. "I'd bet my life that it was the Gov'ner who did this."

Rick understood her short sentence to mean that she thought the Governor had knocked Daryl out with that poisonous dart and dragged him away somewhere. Part of Rick hoped that he was still alive, just so he'd be able to eventually see him again, but most of him seemed to hope that he was dead; no doubt that asshole would hurt Daryl if he were still alive.

Rick stared blankly at the needle, the blood catching the light filtering through the trees, and covered his mouth with his palm, his fingers kneading through his overgrown stubble. He would track the Governor down, catch his sorry ass, and make him pay for what he'd done; that mission was the only thing still keeping him alive at that moment.


	12. I'm Not Alright

**Chapter 12: I'm Not Alright**

Daryl's vision blurred as he blinked his eyes open, his head feeling like he was trying to swim through quicksand. How long had he been the Governor's captive? One day? Two? He had already lost count, and that probably had something to do with the alternating amounts of adrenaline and tranquilizer the Governor was pumping into his bloodstream.

His mouth was dry, and though he desperately wanted a drink of water, he believed that any form of liquid or solid would be completely rejected by his stomach, and promptly come spewing back out of his mouth. Needless to say he hadn't been this sick for a very long time.

As far as Daryl could remember the Governor had merely raped him a few times, but his body ached like he'd taken another of his father's beatings. Every muscle was sore, every joint screaming to be moved into a more relaxing position, but Daryl couldn't move his limbs at all due to the restraints he was still wearing. Perhaps being forced to sit in this uncomfortable chair was part of the torture; maybe the Governor thought that if he could break Daryl's body down enough he'd be able to break the redneck's soul, too. But that wouldn't happen, because Daryl was tougher than even he himself knew; he wouldn't tell that asshole a fuckin' thing, no matter how much pain was inflicted upon him. That was the only way he could be certain that he didn't put Rick in any more danger than he was probably already in.

Hopefully Rick wouldn't spend too much time or effort looking for him, either. If Rick was smart he would simply comb the woods, check the surrounding buildings, and chalk it up to Daryl taking off on his own. Daryl wasn't worth the search, anyway, and as long as Rick didn't come within a stone's throw of this place he would be fine; that's all Daryl really cared about, anyhow: Rick's safety. Though it sounded stupid, even to him, Daryl would feel guilty if Rick kept up a steady search for him, or even thought to come back to Woodbury, and something happened to him. Daryl would take everything the Governor could dole out in stride so long as the asshole didn't lay a hand on his sheriff.

The sound of boots strolling towards Daryl's holding cell of sorts cut off his train of thought. His ears pricked at the sound, fear flooding his veins once more. What would the Governor inflict upon him today?

There was a knock at the door, one of those ones that have a sound pattern, like the person knocking is your best friend in the world. The Governor was toying with the redneck now, teasing him even with something so simple as a knock on a piece of metal acting as a door. The door swung open, banging lowly against the wall, and the Governor stepped into the room. He closed the entrance behind him, and when he turned back around Daryl could see the twisted smirk on his face.

"Good morning, Daryl. I trust you slept well?" Phillip moved into the light, lugging a black duffel bag with him.

Daryl didn't answer, and tried to keep his eyes on the floor instead of wandering to that sack the Governor was carrying. He was fairly certain that he knew what was in there, though he had no desire to find out whether or not he was right.

The Governor walked out of Daryl's line of sight to set the bag down on the table behind his captive, and the clang of metal objects bouncing off of one another rang sickeningly in Daryl's ears, proving that his guess was, in fact, correct about what was in there. He heard the bag unzipping slowly, and the dread was like a boulder in his stomach. There was a ruffling of the bag's contents, and then the Governor was in front of Daryl again, a small pair of pliers in one hand, that damn syringe in the other.

Before the Governor could inject the adrenaline into his veins again, Daryl spoke. "Tell me, Governor, where'd ya get that shit anyway?"

Phillip rocked back on his heels for a moment, seeming surprised that the redneck had the balls to talk at a time like this. "What shit is that, Daryl?"

"That fuckin' adren'line ya been shootin' me up with."

Phillip brought the syringe up to his good eye, as if considering it with many a deep thought. "I've had this saved up for quite a while actually, way before this whole apocalypse thing started. There was an incident between a friend of mine and a very large man, and let's just say I figured I'd take care of the problem. I called up a doctor friend of mine, and it turns out they've got a couple vials of this stuff in stock in hospitals. Only took a few thousand dollars across the man's palm to get me what I needed, and now I've got plenty of extra vials saved up for you and Rick."

Daryl raised one eyebrow at the man before him, wondering just what happened to that large man the Governor spoke about.

"You didn't think this was the first time I've done this, did you? That this was the first time I'd ever gotten an in depth view of how the human body reacts to certain chemicals and instruments, and, of course, to pain?" Phillip's eye glinted with the hardness brought on by unpleasant memories, and the glare he turned on Daryl made the redneck feel frozen.

It figured that the Governor had done these things before; how else would he have known so much about adrenaline, and have it on hand? Why else would he have thought to bring a duffel bag full of instruments with him this time? Daryl wasn't the first, of course not; the Governor was experienced in this particular craft by now. He had experimented before, dabbled in the art of torture on some other poor canvas, and he probably had a million more painful ideas stocked up in that twisted warehouse he called a brain now.

There was panic making its way into Daryl's arteries now, flooding in a hot rush through him, and he could feel the sweat pop up on his brow and upper lip. His lungs constricted under this new wave of anxiety, and if he'd had less control he might have ended up hyperventilating right there and then. The Governor would make no mistake this time around, wouldn't accidentally cut too deep and hit an artery or a vein, wouldn't hit something vital. He knew his anatomy all too well to do something so stupid now. That thought, that there would be no accidental easy out, was somehow more terrifying than the thought of the pain itself; sure, the odds that there would have been one in the first place were low, but now they rocketed right down to zero.

"You're not the first, Daryl." Phillip was almost whispering as he said this, and his tone made Daryl look up. "You're not even the second." And then that devil's smile was back on Phillip's lips and Daryl nearly screamed right there.

In one swift movement the Governor brought the syringe up and into Daryl's arm, pushing the plunger down and forcing the warm fluid into the redneck's veins. Daryl's heart was already pounding nearly through his chest at what the Governor had said, but now it was racing like a horse down the dirt track, and every beat ignited the fiery ache inside every part of his body.

While the adrenaline set in, Phillip returned the syringe to the bag, and began laying out his tools of torture on the table beside it. A scalpel, a battery operated drill, a small hammer, a pair of wire cutters, a flip-top lighter, a razor blade or two, and a few fishhooks made up the horrifying array of normal-turned-deadly instruments. Phillip smiled as he stared at these objects, the light sparkling on the metal surfaces, and wondered which would cause the most pain. He already had the pliers in hand, and he would use them first because they would cause the least amount, but he needed something to move onto afterwards; well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

The Governor strolled casually back to where Daryl sat, now quite paralyzed. His body was limp against the chair, his head lolling to one side as if he had fallen asleep, or died; the only thing truly out of place for that type of picture were the man's blue eyes, which were wide open and moved when the Governor did.

"I'm ready to begin, Daryl. If you want to scream, please feel free to do so." Phillip smiled in an almost gentle manner, before deftly using the pliers to grip the index fingernail on Daryl's right hand and rip it from the skin.

Tears welled in Daryl's eyes, the agony almost escaping vocally, but he just barely managed to hold it in. He'd ripped out hangnails before, and bitten a little too close to the pink several times, but this was different. He could see, as well as feel, the blood gushing from his finger, the skin torn at odd angles and hanging free from where they had been ripped. This was nearly as painful as that arrow that stabbed through his side when he fell down the cliff after looking for Sophia.

The Governor positioned the pliers to pull out the next fingernail, and then the tears fell, rolling down Daryl's cheeks in rivers. He wanted to beg, to curse, to scream, but he knew that none of those things would make the Governor stop. And Daryl would hold his cries of pain in as long as he possibly could, because he didn't want to give this evil man the pleasure of knowing he'd defeated Daryl Dixon.

The Governor tugged at this one, rather than just tearing it out. He had wanted to surprise Daryl with the first one, let the shock infuse with the pain and make it richer, in a way, but this time he wanted to allow the redneck to feel the entirety of it. He wiggled the fingernail as he pulled it out of Daryl's skin, grinning widely when a small whimper escaped the man's lips. The skin ripping with the tearing away of the nail was audible this time, and a defiant gasp broke free of Daryl's constricted throat.

Eight more times the Governor did this, until all of Daryl's fingernails were littering the floor and his fingers were stained dark with blood. Daryl finally broke on the ninth one, his scream of pain filling the near silent space around them. The Governor rewarded him by pulling the last nail free from his body rather than taking his time with it; Daryl didn't think of it as a very good prize.

"Well, now that those pretty little fingers are free of those grimy nails the real fun can begin." Phillip laughed to himself, setting the pliers on the table beside the scalpel.

Phillip gazed at the tools lined up in front of him, trying to decide which one would best suit his plans next. He ended up selecting one of the razors, watching the blade reflect the miniscule amount of light from above them with an almost astonished expression.

"When we were having our fun yesterday I noticed that there were scars on your thighs. Very precise scars, made with a razor blade. I figure since you like to cut yourself so much, I would give you a little bit of pleasure with the pain. I'm quite courteous that way." Phillip smirked again.

If Daryl hadn't been in a horrid amount of pain, and paralyzed, he might have laughed at the Governor's pathetic attempt at a joke. Courteous was the furthest thing from an accurate description of the Governor that Daryl had ever heard in his life.

The Governor raised a steady hand to Daryl's left thigh, pressing the blade just slightly into the man's skin. He wanted them both to savor this moment, the time before the cut, and feel the anticipation building up from it. It was so sweet, this waiting for the skin to open and the blood to pour out, that the Governor might have stayed there, pressing that razor to Daryl's leg, all day had he not had a plan in motion.

So swiftly Daryl could barely even tell it had happened, the Governor slid the razor through the redneck's flesh in one long, smooth line. The sting of the cut was all that really gave it away, until the Governor did it a second time. For at least an hour the Governor sat in front of Daryl, blade in hand, carving line after line into Daryl's skin. Whether the Governor stopped because he had covered the front of Daryl's body in cuts, or because he could no longer seen any unmarked areas of flesh because of the blood staining the man's skin, Daryl couldn't tell.

The sight of the redneck looking so lost, so sad, in so much pain, and covered in blood somehow turned the Governor on, and it showed through his jeans, pressing tight against the clasp. Daryl could feel bile rising in his throat; he knew what would happen now, and part of him preferred to just be sliced into ribbons by that stupid razor.

The Governor tossed all of his instruments into his duffel bag, then tossed it to the floor, leaving the table wide open for Daryl's unresponsive body. He undid the restraints at an almost fevered pace, and all he saw was red as he lifted Daryl and slammed him down on the table. It was almost comical how pale and pure Daryl's backside seemed in comparison to all that had happened on the front side, but the Governor was in no mood to chuckle right now. He eagerly dropped his pants and gripped Daryl's hip in one hand, preparing to thrust into him with the other.

Daryl clenched his teeth together, the only movement he could make, and waited for it all to be over.


	13. Lights Out

**Chapter 13: Lights Out**

Rick and Michonne hoofed it back to the group as fast as their feet would carry them. Rick clenched the small dart in his closed fist, his fury building the tighter he pressed his fingers around it. The Governor had tranquilized Daryl and taken him somewhere to do God knows what to him; the Governor had dared to screw with the person Rick loved most, and he was going to see the pits of Hell open before him at Rick's command.

As soon as they made it back into the prison yard Rick waved up to Carol, calling her back down from the tower to join the rest of them in the prison. Michonne went to the group's block, rounding up the others for the second meeting that morning, while Rick swung around to the Woodburians' block to drag Hershel along with him.

It only took about five minutes for Hershel to make his way back to their own block, though to Rick every second felt like a minute, every minute an eternity; the clock was ticking on Daryl's life, if it hadn't already struck twelve for him, and every second they had to waste filling people in and getting an attack party together was a second that Daryl's life could be slipping away from Rick.

"Rick, what's going on?" Hershel asked when they finally made their way to where everyone else was already standing in a tight circle.

Rick tried to speak around the lump in his throat, but found that he was unable, and showed his group the needle still cupped in his palm. Hershel's eyes widened slightly, and Carol gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth; the realization of what had happened immediately hit them all across the face.

"Found this about half a mile out in the woods." Michonne spoke softly in Rick's place, giving him just that much more time to get ahold of his emotions. "Governor probably took Daryl with him to wherever he's hiding now." Her lips pressed into a thin line, effectively ending her monologue.

"Where do you think he would be?" Carl looked between Michonne and his father, still wanting to be included in the grown-up conversations even though Daryl was in danger.

Rick swallowed roughly, finally finding his voice. "I think he'd have just gone back to Woodbury. There's no reason for him to be anywhere else, since everyone from that town is here now, and all of his supplies would be back in his room or somewhere else around there."

A moment of silence passed between the group, each person nodding and absorbing the information in their own way.

"I'm going after him, right now." Rick spoke firmly, not meeting anyone's gaze. He was pretty sure Hershel would make some kind of argument against that, but he wouldn't be persuaded this time around.

Surprisingly enough, Hershel didn't say anything, but rather nodded at Rick and moved to sit at one of the tables beside the group. Carol, holding back tears, put a fist to her mouth and pretended to be interested in the way Beth was rocking Judith. Michonne stepped up to Rick, showing that she was willing to go with him, and he dipped his chin at her to express his gratitude at the gesture.

"Carl, did Glenn or Maggie say anything about which direction they'd be heading in first?" Rick looked at his son, still so small though he'd matured so quickly, and had to bite back a few tears of his own; the boy acted so much like an adult, though he was just a pre-teen, and Rick grew more and more proud of him every day.

"I think they said North; they wanted to check the closest housing district first." Carl pushed the brim of his father's sheriff's hat up on his head slightly, looking up at Rick with eyes that just barely masked his fear and worry.

Rick put a hand on the boy's shoulder, trying to give him a reassuring smile that just turned out weak. A moment later he and Michonne were both gone, leaving the rest of the group to look after them and try to keep some hope alive.

Rick and Michonne managed to track down Glenn and Maggie before they attempted to head out to Woodbury. They would need all the extra manpower they could get on this mission; who knew how many men the Governor had managed to round up again after he'd taken off on his own. As soon as Glenn and Maggie knew the story they agreed to help, and the four of them piled into their respective vehicles and raced through the barren streets to the Governor's lair.

They stopped just outside of the wall that used to be the back entrance into the town. No guards stood posted on top of it, and from what they could hear the whole place sounded deserted. Everyone got out of their cars, forming a line in front of the barricade that stood before them.

"Do you have a plan, Rick?" Glenn asked, glancing at the older man from the corner of his eye.

"Hadn't quite thought that far ahead yet." Rick smirked humorlessly, his eyes focused intently in front of him. If he were being honest with himself his only plan consisted of bursting into Woodbury, guns drawn, and searching every damn building until he found that son of a bitch; after that, well, he would just let instincts take over.

Glenn nodded, cutting a quick glance to Maggie; she reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Mags and I can search one side of the town, and you and Michonne can search the other; it'll be a lot faster that way, and we'll be able to cover more ground split into two man teams. If we find the Governor before you do, we'll knock him out, find something to tie him up with, and come get you."

Rick thought things over for a minute before agreeing with Glenn's plan; it was better than anything he'd managed to think up thus far, anyway. They slipped through the entrance Michonne had shown them before, then split up, Glenn and Maggie taking the East side while Rick and Michonne took the West side. Glenn and Maggie ended up having to search more living quarters and oddly placed shops than anything, and the found no sign of the Governor, let alone of life itself.

Rick and Michonne ended up searching the Governor's room, where they also found his stash of adrenaline, tranquilizer, and torture tools. Seeing all of the evidence splayed out before him made Rick's stomach turn painfully, and had he actually eaten anything that morning it might have all come back up at that moment. Michonne put a hand on his shoulder, which helped bring him back to reality.

The only other places they had to check were Milton's lab and the storage area where both Milton and Andrea had died. Rick no longer cared about safety, he just wanted to get this whole ordeal over with as soon as possible, so he sent Michonne to Milton's lab while he swept the storage space.

As soon as he saw Michonne dart around the corner of the building Rick rushed toward the storage area/holding cell. Something inside of him told him that Daryl was going to be there, and he didn't particularly want an audience in case he started sobbing, which was an all too real possibility, considering the fact that Daryl might already be dead, and if not he was surely seriously injured.

Rick prayed as he ran, his boots thudding against the concrete in a way that sounded like thunder; every step resounded in his ears until he was sure they matched the rhythm of his heartbeats. Finally, after what seemed like hours, though was really only seconds, he saw that stupid makeshift metal door in the entryway. The memory of the night the group had found Andrea, her throat torn out in just the right way so that she wouldn't die quickly, but instead would turn into a walker, flooded his mind. She'd had to shoot herself so that she wouldn't become one of those things, so that she could still hold onto her humanity in some way before her death. Rick prayed as he ran, begging for that not to be Daryl's fate, too.

Rick raised his gun in his right hand at the same time that his left shoved that shitty door open, wincing at the loud banging sound it created when it hit the wall. And suddenly nothing else in all the world mattered anymore, because there was Daryl, Rick's soul mate, sitting before him in the one chair in the room, the only light in the place filtering down from a light bulb above him.

Tears of sweet relief pooled in the corners of his eyes, spilling over the brim, and then Rick was full on crying, the sobs choking him as they tried to force their way out of his throat. Daryl was still alive, and Rick could save him, could take him back to their home, and could protect him from this ever happening again.

"Daryl," Rick whispered. He hadn't realized he'd moved until he was on his knees in front of the redneck he adored, his face just a centimeter from Daryl's, his hand cupping the man's cheek gently.

Rick could feel the coarse stubble on Daryl's chin, could feel the man's breath warm on his face, and, most of all, could feel his heartbeat pulsing beneath the surface of skin. Rick couldn't help closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to Daryl's, his mouth working feverishly against the redneck's, as if this were the last time they would ever kiss.

"Rick," Daryl's blue eyes seemed distance, but they locked on Rick's and refused to move away. "You gotta git outta here, Rick. Leave before an'thing bad happens t'ya." His eyes grew panicked in a split second, and Rick felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"I'm not leaving without you."

Rick, finally managing to break away from Daryl's gaze to find the restraints, took in Daryl's body, and gasped at the sight. The man was naked, covered in cuts that ran from his shoulders down to the tops of his feet, and there were puncture wounds just above his collar bones. His fingertips were raw and bloody, the nails having been forcefully removed causing the skin to tear in unnatural angles. He had a black eye, and what appeared to be a broken nose, and there was swelling in his cheeks, as well as bruises on his forehead and neck.

Rick bit back more tears, and many curses of pure rage, and instead focused on undoing the restraints and trying to reassure his love. "You're going to be just fine, Daryl. I'm gonna get you outta these damn straps, bring you back home, and have Hershel take a look at you. Hershel'll fix you right up, babe, don't you worry."

"No, Rick, listen t'me. You have ta go, right now. Ya have ta leave me behind. You'll never get us both outta here alive, and there ain't no way I'ma have your death on my conscience. Please, Rick, just git outta here while ya still can." Daryl's voice sounded strangled, and he was sure Rick wouldn't listen to him, though he'd try like Hell to make him.

Rick looked up at Daryl as he fiddled with one of the straps at the man's ankles. "There's no way in Hell I'm leaving you here, not after all you've been through with that sick fuck. You deserve better than that."

"Rick, I'm dead, anyway. At least if ya leave now we won't both have t'die. Please, Rick, just fuckin' go."

"No, Daryl. I can't walk away and leave you here to suffer some more. I can't return to that prison, to that damn empty bed of mine, and know I could've saved you, but didn't. I love you too fucking much for that, love you too fucking much to just… just let you die without giving you a fighting chance." The tears stung Rick's throat, burning through the core of his being. He couldn't return to an empty bed, couldn't handle another sleepless night, couldn't lose another person he loved; he wasn't strong enough to handle another death, let alone Daryl's death, and if he had to die himself just to get Daryl back to freedom and safety then he'd do it a hundred times over.

"I love you, too, Rick; tha's why I'm tryin'a get ya to go, so you won't die, too." Daryl shook his head, trying to kick and push Rick away, but failing miserably because of those damn restraints. Even if Rick managed to get Daryl free he was in no position to walk out of this place, and if Rick had to help him along it would hinder them both; he couldn't bear to see Rick die because of him.

Rick pressed another fevered kiss to his angel's lips, shutting him up for the moment. "I'm not leaving without you, and that's final." He returned his attention to the pesky ankle strap he'd been fiddling with.

Rick could hear Daryl sigh heavily, but at that moment he didn't care. He had just gotten Daryl's left foot free, and he looked up at the man with a triumphant smirk, as if to prove that he really was going to save him. Their eyes locked for the briefest moment, and Daryl's mouth opened to say something again, and then the sharp tip of some unnamed blade was sticking through Daryl's throat. The redneck gargled, his eyes going wide as he tried to breath around the blood filling his throat and cutting off his airways, the scarlet liquid running a river of red down the front of his already bloodied body, and then the light in his eyes dimmed, and Daryl Dixon was no longer amongst the living.


	14. One Last Kiss Goodbye

**Chapter 14: One Last Kiss Goodbye**

Rick's breath hitched in his throat, his lungs seeming to collapse in on themselves. Daryl's dead fell forward just slightly, and his wispy bangs covered his forehead and dead blue eyes. Rick panicked then, pushing the hair from his love's face and cupping the man's cheeks. He lifted Daryl's head gently, trying to make eye contact with the dead man, but the eyes stared blankly through him, never to meet Rick's gaze again.

Rick felt lost, like he was adrift at sea, floating in the water with no boat during a hurricane. He couldn't save Daryl, could never even protect him, and now he was gone. He felt like he was being dragged under the current of his own despair, the waves pounding down on him all black and cold and lonely.

"No, Daryl, no." Rick whispered to Daryl's body. He tried patting his cheeks, and even shook his shoulders, because surely he wasn't really gone; Daryl was just joking with him, right? Daryl would look at him any second with his crooked smirk and tell Rick it was all just for fun, just a sick prank, but that he was just fine.

But Daryl didn't do any of those things, because it wasn't a prank, it wasn't a twisted joke, it was for real. The knife that was still sticking from the redneck's throat proved that it had really happened, and that Daryl was never coming back to Rick.

"Tragic, truly tragic." A soft voice spoke from somewhere in the darkness, and Rick jumped to his feet, his head swiveling in every direction to find its source.

The Governor rose from behind the chair Daryl had been tied to, a sadistic smile curving his lips upward. Rick's eyes narrowed into slits, the fury in him reaching the breaking point. He barely even registered his movements, and the Governor certainly had no time to react to how fast they were. Two shots rang out through the confines of the room, and then the Governor was falling to the floor with a harried cry, one hand gripping his left knee, the other clutching desperately at his stomach.

Rick holstered his gun and moved to stand over the Governor. He knelt down next to the cruel man, resting on his haunches, and cocked his head slightly as he studied the one good eye that peered up at him in shock.

A shot to the knee to decapitate the man, making sure he wouldn't be able to escape. A shot to the gut to make him feel the pain, to ensure he wouldn't have a hope of trying to run. And now, finally, Rick's time had come. He had waited for revenge, savoring the sweet taste of it on his tongue as he thought of all that he would do to the Governor when he finally held him captive, and the flavor came rushing back to him. Rick smiled ruefully; he had lost his soul mate, but at least he would be able to send the reason for his love's demise to Hell.

"Kill me. I know that's what you want. So just do it already." Phillip spat blood on the ground beside him, looking up at Rick with a mix of fear and hope. Rick wasn't like him; Rick would make it quick.

"I will kill you, I promise you that, but not yet." Rick grinned, and grabbed the Governor's shirt collar in a tight fist, pinning the man to the floor. "You and me are gonna have a little fun first, before I send you to Hell."

Rick shifted so that he was straddling the Governor's chest, keeping the man down by pressing all of his weight on him. He used his grip on the Governor's shirt collar to pull his head up just enough to slam his fist into the side of his face, sending Phillip's head smacking into the concrete underneath him. Rick did the same thing, bringing his fist down again in the man's face with as much force as he could possibly put into the punch.

The sound of bones breaking in Phillip's cheeks, nose, and jaw were like music to Rick's ears, the thudding of the man's skull against the ground like the lighthouse pulling him back to shore.

When Rick finally stopped, more out of exhaustion than anything else, the Governor's nose was broken, his cheek swollen so badly that his good eye was nothing more than a slit, and blood poured from the side of his face, onto Rick's knuckles, and down to the floor. The Governor turned his face sideways, spitting blood and teeth out, and Rick felt a shockwave of adrenaline run through his body, a livewire electrocuting his veins.

"Every mark you put on Daryl's body I'm going to double on your worthless hide." Rick spoke calmly now as he stood to grab at the tools on the table beside where the Governor had fallen. He laid them on the ground beside his captive, putting them all in a row, before selecting the same pair of pliers the man had used on Daryl the day before.

A shudder ran through the Governor's body, and he realized that Rick had been pushed too far over the edge to kill him quickly now; suddenly he was terrified of the sheriff on top of him, of the plans that were surely forming in his head right then. Phillip hadn't been afraid of anything until now. How had it all gone so wrong, he wondered. He'd had Daryl in his possession, had almost had Rick, too, and then the tables had turned and now he was in Rick's power, subject to his blind rage.

"Scared, Gov'ner? You should be." Rick grinned down at the man, gripping his right hand in an iron grasp.

"No, please." Phillip just barely managed to push the words out of his swollen lips, but he may as well have no spoken at all, because Rick wasn't listening.

Rick wouldn't stop now, not when this was the only chance he would have to exact his revenge. His movements were a little clumsy at first as he positioned the pliers under the Governor's index fingernail and gripped it tightly, since he hadn't done this before. Perhaps his inexperienced hand made the pain worse, because the Governor screamed like a baby when that fingernail was ripped from his skin.

Rick, true to his word, doubled every scratch, cut, and mark that Phillip had put on Daryl's skin, and the screams the man made were one of the sweetest things he'd ever heard, second only to the soft sounds Daryl made late at night when Rick's lips brushed the perfect spot.

By the time he was done, the Governor lay in a pool of his own blood, his life just barely hanging on. The stomach shot hadn't been treated, and never would be, and it had considerably weakened the man.

For the big finale, Rick grabbed the scalpel, pressing it to the Governor's carotid artery. "I would ask if you had any last words, but I really don't care what you have to say." And in one smooth motion he sliced the Governor's throat open, watching the man's eye widen as he gargled and choked on the blood, just as Daryl had done.

Thirty seconds was all it took for the Governor's life to finally end, and Rick finally felt a sense of peace wash over him. He turned back to Daryl's body, still slumped in the chair, and knew he didn't have much longer before the man turned. Rick wouldn't let that happen, wouldn't let his love become one of those vicious things. He fell to his knees in front of the chair, pushing the hair from Daryl's eyes once more with bloodstained fingers.

"I'm so sorry, Daryl. I'm sorry I couldn't save you in time, sorry I couldn't protect you and keep this from happening to you. I love you." Rick sniffled softly, the tears flowing freely once more. He pressed his warm lips to Daryl's cold ones for the last time, one last kiss goodbye, then raised his gun to the side of Daryl's head and pulled the trigger.


	15. A State Of Peace And Misery

**Chapter 15: A State Of Peace And Misery**

Rick didn't know how long he sat there, kneeling in front of Daryl's body in that dim, disgusting room, just trying to catch his breath and absorb the intensity of all that had transpired. It felt like it had taken mere seconds; it felt like it had happened years ago.

The Governor was dead, and now his group would be safe, except for Daryl. Daryl, the one person he had tried so hard to protect, even from himself, had died to keep the group safe. In many ways he was a hero, or at least that's how Rick would see him. Daryl had done a great service to Rick's group, to his family, and he would make sure every last one of them back at the prison, Woodburians and all, revered him in the proper manner. His suffering would be known, his burdens finally released. In this life, Rick supposed, that was the most you could truly ask for.

Rick stayed there, running his fingertips gently over Daryl's skin, re-memorizing every line and contour he already knew by heart. He toyed with the bangs that would forever hang in the man's eyes and off the sides of his forehead, twirling the brown tendrils around his fingers and replaying a fond memory of the first time he ever ran his fingers through those strands. He looked into those eyes, as blue as the sky and twice as pure, before softly lowering the lids over them, encasing Daryl in eternal slumber. Even with everything the Governor had done to him, Daryl was beautiful.

The scars he carried on his back and thighs told his story of a battle long waged, but a war won, and though Rick wished he could find some way to erase them he would never belittle them. They showed Daryl's bravery in the face of adversity, and his courage to help himself. Those scars were nothing like the ones Phillip had carved into the redneck's skin; those scars had the honor of a lost boy struggling to find his way through life and never giving up, and the Governor's scars meant nothing compared to those.

Rick placed his palm over Daryl's heart, longing to feel the beat of it once more, to feel the race of his love's pulse under his touch. Rick was certain that if you were to cut Daryl open the heart you'd find in his chest cavity would be made of pure gold; maybe it would have a few dents or scratches, but it would be valuable nonetheless.

Rick sat there, staring at Daryl, and he was suddenly certain that humans had souls, because Daryl deserved more than a dark void after death; Daryl deserved the pearly gates, and clouds, and mansions, and light, and everything that Heaven had to offer. Believing that Daryl had a soul, and that that soul had found its way to Paradise, made Rick feel just a little bit better about the whole thing.

Rick sighed and got to his feet; he could stay there for the rest of eternity, whispering goodbyes to the empty husk of the man he'd loved, but it wouldn't change a thing, and he had to keep on living; Daryl would have wanted him to. He reached up to the hanging lightbulb, pointing it in every direction of the room like a flashlight beam. He managed to find Daryl's discarded clothes, and after cutting off the rest of the restraints he dressed the man's body; even in death he was sure the redneck wouldn't want his scars exposed to the world.

All that was left was to get Daryl out of that damned storage room and back to the prison, where Rick could give him a proper burial and send him on his way. He lifted Daryl up into his arms, the man's legs dangling over one arm while his head and shoulders lolled over the other; Daryl was heavy, but Rick would manage, even if it killed him. He turned toward the exit, thankful that the door was still wide open, and carried Daryl out into the bright afternoon sun.

Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne were leaning against the wall of Milton's lab when Rick came out, and all three ran toward him.

"Is he…?" Glenn didn't finish his question, merely looked between Rick and Daryl with wide eyes.

Rick nodded, not trusting himself enough to speak.

Glenn swallowed roughly, putting an arm around Maggie's shoulders as she tried to stifle a sob. "And the Governor?"

Rick nodded once more, shifting Daryl's weight slightly in his arms, and started back to the vehicles. The others followed along in silence, except for Maggie's chocked cries and Glenn's soft sniffling.

Once at the cars Rick strapped Daryl's body into the passenger seat of the Hyundai while Glenn and Maggie went to their own truck. Michonne came up to Rick as he stood beside the open passenger door, taking a moment to catch his breath, and placed a hand on his shoulder. She didn't speak, and neither did he; they just looked at each other, everything they could ever want to say passing between their gazes. Then she dropped her hand and climbed into the back of Glenn and Maggie's truck.

The trio left first, deciding that they would go to the prison and tell the others what had happened so that Rick wouldn't have to; the poor man had been through enough that day, and he didn't need to deal with rehashing the painful past, too.

Rick followed behind them slowly, clasping Daryl's hand in his the entire way there, not releasing his grasp for anything.

Rick stood beside the empty grave he had taken the rest of the afternoon to dig, feeling like his heart had a hole in it about the size of the one he'd created in the earth. He had insisted on digging the hole by himself, though most of the able-bodied members of the group had offered their help.

The others had stood near Rick in a loose circle, watching him work and whispering words of love for Daryl between themselves. There would be no real funeral for the redneck that night; it would wait until tomorrow, when Hershel had found the proper words in his worn Bible to preach, and Rick wasn't about to collapse from exhaustion and depression.

After he dug the grave, Rick fashioned a slightly-larger-than-the-rest cross to mark Daryl's final resting place. He stuck this in the ground at the head of the hole, and then, in a sudden moment of inspiration, took the angel wing vest from Daryl's shoulders and placed it on the cross instead. Rick set it on the small wooden frame so that the wing decal on the backside was facing out, over the grave, showing the world that this was where Daryl Dixon lay.

When the time came to lay Daryl to rest Glenn offered, again, to help Rick move the body, but again Rick refused. He lifted Daryl's body, carrying him the way he had when they were leaving Woodbury, and gently laid him in the ground; he even took the time to position Daryl's arms so that they were draped across his abdomen.

Rick wiped the tears away with a shaky hand, marveling at how Daryl looked. All of the hatred, and pain, and turmoil were wiped clean from his face, and he looked like he had finally found peace. A state of peace and misery, for the group wept over the loss of their hunter that day, as they would mourn him for the rest of their lives.

Rick filled the hole himself, as well, shoveling the dirt over Daryl's body as fast as he could manage with the weariness wracking his body. Finally, the last clump of dirt was placed, the grave filled completely.

It was nearly dark by the time the grim task was finished. The rest of the group had trickled away one by one, leaving Rick alone with his dead. Now that there were no watching eyes, Rick could break down freely. He collapsed in the dirt, first on his knees with his hands covering his eyes, and ending up curled into the fetal position on top of Daryl's grave.

Perhaps it was just the sleepless nights finally catching up to him, or perhaps it was that all the tears he'd cried had left him spent, but soon after he had folded in on himself Rick fell asleep. This was the closest he would ever get to sleeping beside Daryl again, and he felt no inclination to move anytime soon.

Before she went to bed, Carol grabbed a pillow and blanket and snuck out of the prison to the field where the dead were buried. She had noticed that Rick hadn't come back in, and somehow she just knew he would be spending the night on top of Daryl's resting place. He was already asleep by the time she got there, using his arm as a pillow while the rest of his body shivered slightly from the chill in the air.

Gently, so that she wouldn't wake him, Carol fanned the blanket over the sheriff's body and lifted his head, slipping the pillow underneath him. She took a moment to stroke his cheek with her thumb in a comforting manner, and tussle his hair, the tears spilling down her face.

"Sleep well, sheriff."

**Well, kids, this is the end. I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. I apologize for the lack of happy ending, but if you know me you know that I prefer realism and sadness to happy go lucky stuff. I'm sorry if I broke any hearts and caused any tears. Just know that I love you all so much, and thank you for taking the time to read my work. You guys make it all worth it. **

**I will be taking a break from writing for a little while, because to tell the truth this last fic kinda wore me out. I need a bit of a vacation, haha. In the meantime, you can visit my profile and read the other works I have posted. **

**I look forward to writing new fics and putting them for you all to enjoy again soon!**

**Thank you all for a great run!**


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